hope for the night
by sorde
Summary: "And when she'd handed it to him, unwrapped and entirely un-Christmas-y, she'd said, 'I'm giving you an experience.'" The Christmas season helps to lessen the blow. Post-ep for 7x10.


For the friends who don't necessarily love reading, but for whom I still buy books every year. We both know I can't control myself.

A post-ep of sorts to 7x10, with what amounts to basically non-spoilers for 7x11. Title/lyrics comes from The Head and the Heart's "Winter Song."

* * *

**hope for the night.  
**

A season seven Christmas story: the fall-out from Castle's eviction from the Twelfth, and the way the season lessens the blow.

* * *

_summer's gone, now winter's on its way_  
_i will miss the days we had_

Their first year as a couple, even though Castle had technically gotten her nothing, Kate gave him a brand new copy of _The Terrorists _by Sjöwall and Wahlöö, mainly because he'd never read the Martin Beck series and, while giving him the last book in the series seemed a little incongruous, there was something really poignant about the novel that she loved.

And when she'd handed it to him, unwrapped and entirely un-Christmas-y, she'd said, "I'm giving you an experience."

He was patient, of course. Settled in, took a long look at her, and waited it out until she cleared her throat and added, "Every time I read a book, it's like... Going on an adventure. I don't- I always read a book, and go on that journey with the characters, and it's like I'm experiencing it with them. The books are integrated into my life; I read them on my break or in the subway or before bed, and I... Wanted to give you an experience for Christmas." She'd paused, grimaced. "Is that cheesy?"

"No." He'd leaned forward, given her a gentle kiss, and murmured, "That's lovely."

So they buy each other books now. They exchange books all the time, of course; she'll often be halfway through a book and go to look for it, only to see Castle reading it on the couch. But buying them for the holidays says _I had an important experience with this and I want you to have your own, _so they've picked out a book to slip among the other gifts on birthdays and Christmas and anniversaries.

But for this particular Christmas, their first as a married couple, Kate is determined to win the book-giving game. Just as soon as she figures out what book to give him.

/

It's strange how different Christmas at the precinct - Christmas in general, really - is, now. In years past, whether in deference to Kate's somber mood or just simply that they weren't _family_ yet, just coworkers, the precinct was tame around Christmas. People would decorate their own desks, wish each other _Happy holidays _on Christmas Eve, discuss their plans in hushed tones, all very business-like and all very respectable for a team of homicide detectives, and she appreciated it. She did. Christmas was out there in the world anyway, slapping her in the face from Thanksgiving to January, and the reprieve in the precinct was appreciated. But now...

But now.

The tree is beautifully lit and the boys are laughing about a story she's only half-listening to, something about an engagement to which she wasn't privy, apparently, and someone is raising their cups every couple of minutes to a rousing chorus of "Merry Christmas!" Jenny shows up at some point and joins Kate and Lanie in their dancing, and Velasquez jumps in and Kate prays, prays for no one to call and ruin the perfect image of this moment. The near-perfect image of this moment.

It takes embarrassingly long for Kate Beckett, trained detective, to notice that something is missing. Something... loud, and in-your-face, and the life of the party. Nobody is trying to give a speech, nobody is pulling Espo and Ryan into some terrible karaoke, nobody is plucking the mistletoe from the doorway and creeping up behind her and pulling her back flush against his chest.

In fact, her husband is on the periphery of the room.

When Castle catches her looking, the one corner of his mouth moves up, that cute little half-wave of his curling his fingers. She's not concerned - not exactly - but Kate makes her way over to him, still energized and ignited by this party and grinning and fully planning on dragging him into the center of it, where he belongs and where he naturally gravitates to usually. It's privately her favourite part of these things (and she'll never tell him); the way he throws himself into it and drags her along, the way he commands attention with his carefree demeanor and general likeability. She admires it.

But when she gets close enough to grab his wrist, to pull him in, he's already leaning down to kiss her cheek, murmuring, "I'm gonna head home."

_What? _"Wait, Castle, hey-" She catches his hand as he turns, presses in close. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." It's clearly a lie, and he catches himself, sighs. "It's fine. You have fun at the party, and I'll see you tonight?"

Something is very clearly wrong, but he's like this sometimes, a little more quiet and reserved than people give him credit for. Sometimes he needs to work things out first, but even so, she lifts a hand to caress his cheek. "You want me to come with you? I am technically your ride." She raises an eyebrow at the end and that same smile, the one she hates, with just the corners of his mouth moving up but nothing in his eyes, flashes and disappears. No innuendo. _What?_

"No, you should be at the precinct's Christmas party. I'll just call the car service."

A quick kiss, and then he's gone.

_What? _

_/_

She gets caught up in Lanie and and the party goes well into the night and she ends up leaving significantly later than she intended to. But Lanie was just- Lanie's always been there to listen to every one of Kate's problems, but she so rarely gives Kate the chance to reciprocate, and while her friend seemed totally fine with the breakup it was nice to be able to help her just talk it out.

It was at the expense of Kate's husband, though, and the sharp weight of worry has been living in her gut the whole evening, so she's eager to get home. The drive is marginally less safe than it should be, given that she's driving the cruiser, but it's approaching midnight and the streets are about as empty as they get on a Thursday night.

When she walks in, the light is on in his office. She toes off her heels but keeps her jacket on, hurried already to see what's wrong with Castle. When she enters his office, he's just sitting there, staring blankly at the movie. For a second, Kate leans against the frame of the door, trying to decipher the movie. _Home Alone._ Of course. It's his favourite _actual_ Christmas-themed movie, second only to _Die Hard_ in terms of movies that are set around Christmas.

"Hey." He finally breaks when she moves her gaze from the screen, and it's just a murmur, his voice is low, quiet whisper that tells her _I'm sad but I'm trying. _

"Hey," she throws back, entering the room properly now. When he doesn't move, she sits next to him on the couch, curling one leg beneath her so that she can face him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

They're better at communication now, but that thing they always had before - the ability to say a lot without saying anything - is still there as an undercurrent to their relationship, and she settles with that. One hand comes up to scratch at the hair just tucked next to his ear, the way he likes it, and he lets out a long sigh.

"Can I get you a glass of wine?" He gestures with the glass already in his hand, looking off in the general direction of the kitchen, and that's about as much avoidance for the evening as Kate can take.

"Castle." Her voice is firm. He turns to look at her, almost knocks his nose into her face, but he's already accepting his fate. She softens before she gets the next words out, just murmurs them so they're a whisper in his ear, for him only. "You okay?"

He clears his throat. "I'm, uh... I'm not allowed to come into the Twelfth anymore. My offer from the mayor has been revoked."

Any residual Christmas excitement just slides right off her face. Kate pulls her head back so she can get a good long look at him, but he's not joking; the desolation is there, written all over his face. She feels gutted, and instinct tells her that this is happening because of the whole mob thing, and she _told him... _Come on, if the man would just listen to her for _once_-

She tamps that down right away. Her husband already blames himself for everything; he hardly needs her help.

The reminder jostles her out of her own thoughts and the anger about the whole thing slides right out of her, making room for the reality of the situation: Castle won't be coming to work with her anymore, and she's just deeply, deeply sad. "Because of the mob," she murmurs, and he nods.

"More or less."

"I'm so sorry, Castle."

He takes a sip of his wine, sighs. "_I'm _sorry. You warned me not to get involved, and I love working at the precinct with you." He turns sad, pitiful eyes toward her. "Partners in crime _and_ in life." It comes out as more of a lament than a statement of fact, like their partnership is just over.

Well. It kind of is, isn't it?

"Still partners in life," she murmurs, curling closer again and nuzzling her nose against the side of his cheek.

It seems to come out automatically, still tinged with sadness, but: "Still partners in life," he repeats.

/

It's a fumble, at first. The morning after, she awakes just before her alarm and creeps out of bed before he can wake up. When she gets out of the shower, he's waiting for her with a cup of coffee in his hand and a sad smile on his face, and she tries to write her apology all over her skin but he won't have it, nudging forward to kiss her before the apology can creep into her eyes. And then she leaves, and he stays.

And it's _weird_ at the precinct. Gates gives her a half-smile through her office window, an indulgent apology, and Kate gives her a nod. But Castle's chair is there, of course, and she can't bring herself to move it or look at it.

For a long time, for two months, it was the thing she was most fiercely protective of, and that lingers, but even though he's safe at home it stings that he's not here. Reminds her of other times.

The vic is a retired socialite, someone Kate vaguely remembers seeing in the tabloids when she was a teenager, but nobody is there to throw out a paparazzi-picture-gone-wrong or a crazed-fan-wants-revenge-for-terrible-movie-choices theory and... She misses him. Viscerally. Usually, when he stays home to write, she can text him about the case and rib him about the juicy details until he just shows up. She can do her job without him, but it's not nearly as fun.

She calls him at lunch.

In fact, she calls him at lunch every day for the first week. Which is a new and weird development. She calls him and they chat about what to make for dinner, and what Alexis is up to, and how the boys are doing and whether or not she's eating lunch and how on _earth_ does she even get her coffee without him and how can he say that _The Outsider_ is better than _Crime and Punishment_ when clearly Dostoyevsky has a better grasp than Camus on the human factor of criminality, and it's fine. But she misses him.

At the very least, the whole thing inspires her. Kate has plans this year, and she's going to win this whole book-giving game.

/

The Castle family has an open-gifts-on-Christmas-day tradition going on, but Beckett grew up with the insistence of her mother that it was only appropriate to open _one _present on Christmas Eve. "An amuse-bouche," her mom would say, grinning wickedly as she pulled out just one gift for each of them.

Castle's been good about integrating her traditions with his. They have a deal: on Christmas Eve, they open the books. And she goes first.

It almost sounds like he's being considerate when he makes her open her gift first, but it's really for him, his excitement a tangible thing in the air around them as they settle at the edge of the bed. Their preparation for bed has already happened, and Alexis and Martha are at a party and in bed, respectively. Kate adjusts her shirt so the collar doesn't hang off her shoulder before she accepts Castle's proffered gift. Except her book comes in... A giant box?

When she shoots him an inquisitive look, he shrugs, settles a hand on the bed behind her so he can move in closer. "I like to keep it mysterious."

"But I know you got me a book."

"Just keeping you guessing, Beckett."

"But the whole _point-_" She gives up, rolling her eyes as she rips off the wrapping paper to reveal the... box from his Xbox One? So he's really just messing with her?

The smirk on his face gives it away: he really is just messing with her. When she opens the box, finally, _finally_ she can see that there's a book in there, so she sticks her hand in and pulls it out.

It's not a substantial book; it couldn't be more than a couple hundred pages, but even in its newness, the back cover looks dated. She flips it over.

A copy of _Casino Royale_.

Not Castle's copy, of course, his current one or the one from when he was ten; that's not the deal. A _new_ copy, for a new experience, and she can't... He gave her _Casino Royale_ for Christmas.

"It's not exactly Dostoyevsky." She's shaking her head but not saying anything, because her throat is clogged and damn. Damn. He might have her beat. "But this book led to the third best experience of my life - writing - and I want to share that experience with you."

There's an unpleasant sheen of tears clouding her vision, but she still gives him her best sarcastic-but-fond expression. "Third best?"

"Raising Alexis. Being with you." The expression on his face is all cockiness, that too-attractive I'm-so-going-to-get-laid one, and she huffs out a laugh but kisses him in appreciation anyway. He means it, and she knows that, but the getting laid is an added bonus... For the two of them, really.

He gave her _Casino Royale. _She's seen the movie, of course, curled up on the couch in Castle's office, and she'd read Ian Fleming's _Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang _as a kid, but Castle's just dropped it into her lap like he's _not_ inviting her into his past again, into his family history and the pieces of himself he keeps hidden away. He does it more now than he used to, just as closed off a person as she is, but she still feels humbled, privileged.

He wants to share the experience that prompted him to become a writer. Her favourite author, her _husband_.

He really does have her beat.

Her husband is also waiting expectantly for her, eyes wide and ready and she leans it to kiss him slowly, gratefully, before settling back to give him what he wants. "Speaking of _being with me_..." His gift is hidden behind her back, and she pulls it out. She had the foresight to wrap it like a regular human being, even though it's obviously a book and _that's the whole point of this exercise, _but whatever. She may or may not have put a bow on it for his benefit.

He rips into the beautiful wrapping slowly, almost reverently, and her heart is in her throat until he finally reveals the cover of the collection of Agatha Christie's short stories.

_Partners in Crime. _

He's quiet for a moment, and Kate's a little bit nervous about his reaction, but all he does is shout gleefully, "How have I never read this?"

"The author of the Derrick Storm novellas finds short stories too boring."

Castle ignores her, mostly, choosing instead to open the book slowly, take a look at the acknowledgements in the back. It's a tradition of his, to read them first, but she can see that he's watching her, eyes flicking from the page to her face expectantly.

Fine. She steels herself, takes a deep breath, and lays her hand on his arm. "They're stories about a couple who solve crimes together. Partners in crime, and in life." His face is falls almost comically, and she rushes to continue. "For a long time, partners in crime was _all_ we had, and sometimes not even that. And I loved it. Our partnership was and _is_ the best thing that's ever happened to me." He relaxes a little, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath, releases the next part all in one breath. "And I miss having you at the precinct all the time, but Castle, if we had to sacrifice one? Partners in crime, every day of the week."

He still looks overwhelmingly sad, and she's not quite explaining what she means to. "I first read this years ago, long before we met, but I read it again after the shooting and it was where I _wanted_ us to go. The partners in life part, I mean. I wanted us to be here. That was my experience with it. And now..."

She can't give away the ending, of course, but she snuggles in a little closer and murmurs, "It's _still_ where I want us to go."

Maybe not totally literally, not both of them leaving the crime-solving life behind entirely like the _Partners in Crime_ characters eventually do, but certainly the part where she gets pregnant. She'll cut back her hours, and Castle will stay home, so it's about as close to leaving the crime-solving behind as they'll get, for now.

"It's perfect." He finally cracks a smile, kisses her gently. His natural exuberance comes back slowly with the press of their mouths. "Is one of them a hot homicide detective?"

"Nope. Both private investigators."

He gets that look in his eye, that look that says he's had a revelation but that she'll hate whatever he's thinking, and in the spirit of Christmas she elects to ignore it. All he says is, "Start reading now?"

_Oh, yes. _

It's snowing outside the window, and they settle back against the headboard, opening their respective novels and not touching, not talking, just the perfect image of the moment and the quiet sound of the pages of their books turning.

_i'll be back again to stay._


End file.
